


talking laughing loving breathing

by mariuscourf



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (but the l word isn't actually on netflix anymore so), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff and Smut, HAROLD THEY'RE LESBIANS, Netflix and Chill, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rule 63, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29569707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariuscourf/pseuds/mariuscourf
Summary: some good ol' fashioned l word and chill, enjolras and grantaire style.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	talking laughing loving breathing

Grantaire was never surprised that her girlfriend has about zero pop cultural literacy; the most Enjolras had ever talked about television was a rant on how Family Ties _might_ have been good were it not for the Reagan-era influence, and honestly Grantaire suspected she only knew the show from whatever political media studies class her hippie liberal arts undergrad offered.

As such, it _should_ have come as no surprise that Enjolras had no idea what the chart from the L Word was. Even though the only reason Courfeyrac had bought a whiteboard for her apartment was to write out everyone’s name and draw a line between people who have hooked up. Even if Combeferre had applied whatever graph-theory analysis she was learning for her thesis to it, and wrote up a mini-paper with her findings, emailed out to the entire ABC and everything.

“How was I supposed to know it was a reference?” Enjolras asked, and fair, graphing out who had fucked whom for no reason _would_ be a Courfeyrac move anyway. 

Before Enjolras could go off on another speech about gatekeeping in queer communities, or about exorbitant price of Showtime and the ethics of pirating media, Grantaire interjected with, “We’re watching it, and it’s gonna be problematic as fuck, but watching the L Word with the girl you like is like, such a formative dyke experience and you are _going to have it_.”

“Are you trying to say that you like me?” Enjolras cocked an eyebrow.

“We’re _literally_ dating; come on, I’m supposed to be the one who’s insecure about this.”

Enjolras responded by just leaning over and kissing her girlfriend. “Still insecure?”

“Duh–” Grantaire was cut off by Enjolras’s mouth colliding with her own again. 

“Get a room,” Courfeyrac shouted from across the Musain, which might have been a valid thing to say had she not spent most of the past month making out with different girls against the wall of the coffee shop after meetings.

“Tomorrow?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras shook her head. “I’m at that conference, remember?”

“Ugh, fuck social justice,” Grantaire joked.

“If you’re going to fuck social justice, I beg of you, _get a fucking room_ ,” Courfeyrac said.

Enjolras blushed. Grantaire just winked.

  
  


Joly and Bossuet had a monopoly on the couch, because of course they did. “C’mon, it’s game night,” Joly said, waving her wii controller around. 

Last time the two of them had played Just Dance, Bossuet ended up in the hospital with a broken wrist. “Have fun,” Grantaire grimaced. “Enjolras is on her way.”

“Ooh, _Enjolras_ ?” Bossuet waggled her eyebrows. “She’s been here a _lot_ lately.”

“It’s almost as if people usually like to spend time with the person they’re dating.” Grantaire rolled her eyes. “Not that y’all would know anything about that.”

Even before dating, Joly and Bossuet were attached at the hip. “Hey, Musichetta isn’t here right now,” Bossuet pointed out.

“Okay, fair,” Grantaire said, glancing down at her phone. “Well, I gotta let her into the building, so.” One day, Grantaire would live in an apartment building where she could buzz people in, assuming buildings like that existed outside of ’90s romcoms. 

Walking through the wind and rain– shit, when did it start to rain, Grantaire was pretty sure she left her car windows cracked open– was worth it to see Enjolras, frowning at her rain-covered phone on the other side of the apartment complex gate. She was muttering to herself, something about civil liberties, and _fuck_ , how did Grantaire get so lucky? 

“Ready to get out of those wet clothes?” Grantaire smirked.

“I’m ready for my yearly dose of Courfeyrac-approved TV,” Enjolras replied.

“Close enough.”

Two minutes into the first episode, with a laptop propped between them on the bed, Enjolras’s hand had wandered onto Grantaire’s knee.

“Damn, you _really_ don’t want to watch,” Grantaire said, looking over at her girlfriend.

“It’s not the show,” Enjolras said. “It’s just that I haven’t seen you alone in a week.”

“Whose fault is that?” Grantaire pouted, and before she could complain anymore, Enjolras was leaning over to kiss her, hands clutching her waist. They had been together– what, six months at this point– and every time Enjolras kissed her, Grantaire thought she would die. She inched down to Enjolras’s neck, sucking and maybe biting– because what was the point of being gay if you couldn’t do all the dumb teenage shit you missed out on?

“C’mon, I have court tomorrow,” Enjolras laughed, running her hands through Grantaire’s hair.

“Wear a scarf.”

“You make a compelling point,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire murmured in agreement, fiddling with the hem of Enjolras’s shirt. “Off,” and Enjolras must have really missed Grantaire at her law conference because she pulled it over her head right away, blonde hair tangling against the dark fabric. “I’ve missed you,” Grantaire smiled.

“Are you talking to my tits?” Enjolras raised an eyebrow.

“Um, they talk back a lot less.” Grantaire palmed one, watching Enjolras shiver at her touch.

“Uh-uh,” Enjolras whispered, flipping herself on top of Grantaire and attacking her paint-stained button-up. “Wait, hang on,” she said, sitting up.

“Oh, you want to get back to the episode?”

Jenny Schecter was still babbling away on Grantaire’s laptop. Grantaire would give any amount of money to get her to shut up– well, Grantaire would always give any amount of money to get Jenny Schecter to shut up, so that didn’t mean too much.

“Just wait a second, alright?” Enjolras reached over to her backpack, strewn near the side of Grantaire’s bed, emerging with–

“You were just riding public transit with sex toys in your backpack?” Grantaire laughed. “Am I getting this right?” 

Enjolras sighed. “I can put them away, you know.”

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Grantaire practically hissed as she slid her shorts down.

“If you insist.”

“Wow, is that _real_ leather?” Grantaire teased. “Miss vegan with a leather harness?”

“Most fake leather is made of plastic, this is more sustainable,” Enjolras rolled her eyes, balling up her chinos and tossing them to the floor.

“You’re just saying– oh, _fuck_.”

She had slid her legs into the harness and was tightening the straps. “Still want to criticize my choices?”

“I don’t not want to not criticize– sorry, I can’t focus on thinking right now.”

“Oh, did I finally find a way to shut you up?”

“If you wear this in meetings, I will never interrupt again.”

“I somehow don’t believe that.”

Enjolras braced a knee on either side of Grantaire and leaned down, red silicone pressing against Grantaire’s stomach.

“You’re taking too long,” Grantaire complained.

Enjolras pumped some lube into hand and dragged two fingers down, teasing Grantaire open, fucking her fingers inside, her thumb reaching up to rub Grantaire’s clit. “Are you ready?”

“ _Fuck_ , Enjolras,” she sighed. "I was born ready.”

“That better be an exaggeration.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, get in me already.” As Grantaire began to guide the dildo in, Enjolras slicked her hand out of Grantaire’s tight cunt and brought the fingers to Grantaire’s mouth. Grantaire took them in eagerly, sucking the taste of herself off Enjolras as Enjolras pumped deeper. 

“You like this?”

Grantaire moaned, beginning to circle a hand around her clit.

“You like when I’m inside of you? When I’m stretching your pretty cunt around me?” Enjolras took her hand from Grantaire’s mouth and moved it to her chest, pinching a nipple. “Touching yourself when I’m inside you? Watching me watch you, thinking my tongue should be working your clit instead?”

“How’re you doing up there?” Grantaire panted.

“Pretty fucking good,” Enjolras said, crashing her lips down to Grantaire’s, running her hands into the mess of black curls tangled against the ratty pillowcase.

Enjolras stroked faster, matching the rhythm of Grantaire’s lifting hips, Grantaire’s fingers moving quicker, applying more and more pressure against her clit until she was clenching around Enjolras’s cock, head lolled back and screaming into the hand Enjolras pressed over her mouth because hey, Joly and Bossuet were still playing Wii in the other room. 

Enjolras thrust in one last time before rolling off Grantaire, and damn, Grantaire truly did have the best girlfriend to exist– fuck Sappho and well, whoever Sappho dated, Grantaire didn’t actually know, but the point is– all dykes should be named after Enjolras instead.

As soon as she could breathe steadily again, Grantaire wrapped her hand around the base of the cock, sucking her come off before loosening the straps pushing it down so she could taste Enjolras proper, flicking and swirling her tongue around, watching with pleasure as Enjolras clenched her hands into the sheet so hard that they nearly turned white.

“Fuck Grantaire, I’m gonna–”

Grantaire grinned seeing Enjolras turn to jelly. _She_ did that, and she may not be good at much, but making Enjolras come? Maybe that was her purpose in life. Enjolras could kick ass, saving the world and bringing equity to everyone. Grantaire could just fuck her.

On the edge of the bed, Grantaire’s laptop was still playing. Bette and Tina were fighting, or maybe Jenny was doing something stupid– she couldn’t focus on anything but Enjolras. Enjolras, who had apparently just noticed that the DVD was still playing. “Do you want to restart the episode, or…?” 

Grantaire couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“ _What_?”

“Sorry, it’s–” she had to stop to catch her breath– “watching the L Word with a strap-on fallen to your ankle, and a girl on top of you–”

“What about it?”

“It’s just nice,” Grantaire said. “Like, stereotypical as fuck– hey, don’t give me that look, you know I’m right.” 

Enjolras shook her head and brought a hand up to run through Grantaire’s hair. “I’m sorry, do you want Alison Bechdel to walk through the door frame and bless this union?”

“She would have to get through Joly and Bossuet’s video game dancing first.”

“True.” Enjolras reached down to pull the harness off, tossing it on the crumpled piled of her clothes. “I don’t even know what this show is about.”

“Uh, lesbians?”

She kissed the top of Grantaire’s head. “I got that part.”

Grantaire sat up. “Well, come back and watch it some other time?”

“You’re too distracting,” Enjolras said.

“Hey, I take pride in being distracting!” Grantaire winked– well, tried to wink at least; Combeferre had once lectured about the science of why Grantaire would probably never be able to, but it’s the thought that counts. “Guess you’ll just have to stop by more often.”

Enjolras groaned. “Between work, and meetings, and–”

“Guess you’ll just have to move in, then.”

Enjolras froze. “I could, couldn’t I?”

Oh shit, Grantaire said it as a joke, could this actually be happening? “Yeah, let’s book a UHaul.”

“I’m being serious,” Enjolras said. “We could move in together.”

“Like I’m physically incapable of being serious, but damn. We could.” Grantaire smiled. “Fuck, you’re going to have to watch so much bad tv, I _cannot_ wait–”

“Don’t say stuff like that until a lease is signed,” Enjolras joked. 

There was a knock on the door, or at least Grantaire had the vague awareness that something was happening outside the world of Enjolras on her mattress. “Hey– uh– you’re probably busy,” Joly shouted through the door, “but we kinda shattered the tv screen and there’s glass everywhere so just wear shoes when you finally emerge from your den of iniquity?”

Grantaire burst out laughing. Enjolras pulled a pillow over her face. “We’re getting our own place,” she said. “We are definitely getting our own place,” she said, more into the pillow than to anyone else.

“You’re moving in together?” Bossuet yelled.

“Fuck, you can hear us?” Grantaire frowned.

“Just now that Lady Gaga’s not blaring from the tv,” Joly explained. “Because, well, we broke it.”

“ _I_ broke it,” Bossuet corrected.

Enjolras looked up at her girlfriend. “Is it time to put on some clothes and talk to your roommates?”

“And maybe soon-to-be yours too,” Grantaire said.

Enjolras shook her head. “Okay, let’s go tell them I’m moving out,” Grantaire laughed.

Maybe Enjolras didn’t end up absorbing anything of Grantaire’s problematic fav show. But soon enough, they would have all the time in the world, and none of the interrupting roommates. Fuck season one Jenny Schecter having her new life in Los Angeles– Grantaire’s was even better.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Vic for beta-ing!
> 
> For those not in the know, Jenny Schecter is one of the main characters in the L Word, and I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about her.
> 
> Comments/kudos appreciated! Thanks for reading. x


End file.
